A Blessed St. Thomas Day to All

I can never think of St. Thomas without turning to the poetry of Denise Levertov. The poem below is but one of her poems with Thomas as its subject. I can say little beyond what they say. For the reader "didymus" means "twin." Scripture give this name to Thomas, and it has been the subject of much speculation. Did he literally have a twin, or is this some literary convention?

For my friends who think that poetry is difficult to read I offer these instructions:

1. Don't be distracted by the shape of the poem on the page. As you read, the breaks and pauses that the shape gives your reading are part of the journey.

2. Read the poem aloud. (This goes for all poetry. Stand up, sit down, walk around, and read the poem aloud.)

God bless you in this season.

Denise Levertov

St. Thomas Didymus

In the hot street at noon I saw him
a small man
gray but vivid, standing forth
beyond the crowd's buzzing
holding in desperate grip his shaking
teethgnashing son,

and thought him my brother.

I heard him cry out, weeping and speak
those words,
Lord, I believe, help thou
mine unbelief,

and knew him
my twin:

a man whose entire being
had knotted itself
into the one tightdrawn question,
Why,
why has this child lost his childhood in suffering,
why is this child who will soon be a man
tormented, torn, twisted?
Why is he cruelly punished
who has done nothing except be born?

The twin of my birth
was not so close
as that man I heard
say what my heart
sighed with each beat, my breath silently
cried in and out,
in and out.

After the healing,
he, with his wondering
newly peaceful boy, receded;

no one
dwells on the gratitude, the astonished joy,
the swift
acceptance and forgetting.
I did not follow
to see their changed lives.
What I retained
was the flash of kinship.
Despite
all that I witnessed,
his question remained
my question, throbbed like a stealthy cancer,
known
only to doctor and patient. To others
I seemed well enough.

So it was
that after Golgotha
my spirit in secret
lurched in the same convulsed writhings
that tore that child
before he was healed.
And after the empty tomb
when they told me that He lived, had spoken to Magdalen,
told me
that though He had passed through the door like a ghost
He had breathed on them
the breath of a living man --
even then
when hope tried with a flutter of wings
to lift me --
still, alone with myself,
my heavy cry was the same: Lord
I believe,
help thou mine unbelief.

I needed
blood to tell me the truth,
the touch
of blood. Even
my sight of the dark crust of it
round the nailholes
didn't thrust its meaning all the way through
to that manifold knot in me
that willed to possess all knowledge,
refusing to loosen
unless that insistence won
the battle I fought with life

But when my hand
led by His hand's firm clasp
entered the unhealed wound,
my fingers encountering
rib-bone and pulsing heat,
what I felt was not
scalding pain, shame for my
obstinate need,
but light, light streaming
into me, over me, filling the room
as I had lived till then
in a cold cave, and now
coming forth for the first time,
the knot that bound me unravelling,
I witnessed
all things quicken to color, to form,
my question
not answered but given
its part
in a vast unfolding design lit
by a risen sun.

The Stream & the Sapphire: Selected Poems on Religious Themes (New Directions Paperbook) by Denise Levertov

Why can't those _______ just go away? And why isn't my priest speaking up about ____________?

I recently participated in a panel at the University of Tennessee on lesbian/gay/bisexual/transgender people and faith. Ministers from congregations affirming of LGBT folks were invited to be part of the conversation. We heard some painful, and some hopeful stories. One member of the audience asked what role the pastors there thought that we should play in being an activist among other ministers. This questions comes up often for me. How involved should I be in leading activism? I often say that I don't lead with an "edge." What I mean by that is that I don't organize parishioners to march, I don't preach sermons declaring that we should demand gay marriage or absolutely denounce war. I feel that such moves should come from within the congregation. I know that I might alienate more people than I would encourage by leading the charge. Am I too soft? Should I be out in front on important issues?I struggle with this as a priest, and we all question how outspoken we should be in any given situation.

A great number of the pastoral issues I discuss with parishioners deal with how much is too much to share.

"Should I tell my sister-in-law how much she offended me?"

"Should I tell my friends to not use racist language around me?"

"Should I hang out with my sister-in-law who often uses racial slurs."

Those issues seem different from leading a march, or staging a boycott. However, they are all about relationship. The activist ideally speaks up for the sake of human relationships, and so does a friend or family member. The relationship, not the issue, often shapes our role in a confrontation.

My understanding of my role as a priest is that I will not be leading the march for any cause other than sharing the healing, and forgiving grace of Jesus Christ. I might march with my parishioners, or without them.

Relationship is a matter of being. I am in relationship with all people. I can't cut myself off from them without suffering.Another question was raised at the panel:

"Who cares if all these people leave our churches because they are upset over the acceptance of LGBT people?"

Well, I do (I try). I hurt because I feel the loss of relationship. I care because I love them (again, this is a work in progress even with those who share my opinions). Love can make us do some crazy things. We might race through the streets cheering, we might angrily take a stand, or we might sit and listen to those different from us.

So, I will listen to my parishioners who ask for advice on taking a stand, praying that they can know what the right thing is for them to do.

I will speak my mind without demanding that others change or agree with me.

I will continue to be visible in public discourse.

I will lead with the edge of loving our God, our neighbors, and ourselves.

Fr. Dude

Getting Back to My Dudeness

I may have made a mistake in being so public with my congregation with regard to my love for the film "The Big Lebowski". One 80 year old parishioner reported that in preparation for my arrival she watched the film. After getting past the frequent f-bombs she noted that it was funny, and brought matters around to a place of redemption. So my revelation has made some connection with her, and with others. It was at a previous parish that someone gave me the moniker "Father Dude" due to my appreciation of the film, my physical likeness, and I would like to think because of my way of abiding.

When asked by the St. James search committee I told them that my strengths were preaching, teaching, and abiding. I believe that to be true. I am able to be present with people in matters traumatic, joyful, and mundane. Not knowing how to do something doesn't really bother me. I can abide.

Of late, I haven't felt very abiding. I suppose that the busyness of moving, and adjusting to a new job has me frazzled. My minds wanders all over the place. I feel the need to take care of matters that just aren't my business. As I unpack my books I realize that I haven't read many of them, and think that I must read them so that I can be an expert on whatever their subject. I am slipping away from my dudeness.

Perhaps the worst way to focus is to keeping telling yourself to focus. Taking a step back, and focusing on the issue at hand recalls the dudeness. Who should be held accountable for peeing on my rug? One thing at a time.

As I write this I can see out of my window that it is a beautiful day. There is no need to stay in the study. Today I am called to abide outside. Just thinking about it stirs my inner dude.

New Be-ginnings

My commitment to blogging rises and falls. Of late, I have had the excuse that I am moving to a new town, and into a new postion as rector of St. James' Episcopal Church, Knoxville, TN. Starting a new job has me thinking about all the things that I am going to get right this time. I am going to be more organized, prompt in communication, and maintain the perfect balance of all aspects of my life. Those are honorable tasks indeed. I often think of such things as a struggle; a mountain to be climbed.

Viewing my goals as a struggle leaves me more focused on the striving rather than the journey. It sounds rather trite, but life truly is about the journey. There are practical matters to be considered on any journey. We must know where we are going, plan to refuel, and take along many of the things that we will need. Such mundane things in no way require that we skip the scenic views along the way. As important as the goal, the way we travel matters greatly.

I often speak of our "way of being". I didn't invent such thinking, I am just taken with it. Traveling with children certainly keeps me in mind of the way we journey. My children can often be focused on being entertained as they travel. I usually don't mind this as I so often prefer not to be distracted. Maybe being distraced is just what we need.

As I start my new ministry here in Knoxville, I know that the journey is about relationships. The primary distractions are the voices in my head saying "work harder", "organize", or "do better". A phone call, an e-mail, or a knock at the door are not the kind of distraction that will take me away from my course. They are often the very things that will keep me on track. It is in those relationships that I will see more clearly where I am going. It is in relationship that I will see Christ at work; in others as well as in me.

Clarity and preparation are essential; relationship is paramount. Being aware of the view, and the beauty around me only adds to the journey. Even more, those moments remind me that I am not alone. My journey is not a singular one. I travel with fellow pilgrims. While I have goals to reach they are not ultimate. My being is rooted in doing the work of God, and being Christ to the world. In that sense, we are all where we need to be. We are beginning, and we have arrived.

I am here. I will always be at a place of new beginning, and I will always be continuing in the work that began long before me.

Evelyn Underhill Quotes

Evelyn Underhill Quotes: "Every minute you are thinking of evil, you might have been thinking of good instead. Refuse to pander to a morbid interest in your own misdeeds. Pick yourself up, be sorry, shake yourself, and go on again.
Evelyn Underhill"

"How Are You Being?"

Instead of an actual post here follow this link to my recent ramblings in St. Philips ATL Newsletter

Value and Values

A message from Bono in the New York Times.

THE LIGHT OF CHRIST!

The Cathedral of St. Philip, Atlanta, GA

The Great Vigil!!!

If you don't know, there is a tradition of keeping vigils for especially holy feasts in the Christian tradition. As you probably do know, Easter is one of those feasts.

With the Easter Vigil come the lighting of the "new fire". In many places this is actually done in the church. In that case the fire has to be small, but it is still dramatic as it is lit in a darkened church.

At the Cathedral of St. Philip, we light our fire outside. The picture should indicate why. A bonfire is pretty dramatic, eh? From the fire we light the Paschal Candle, and from that worshippers light hand-held candles as we process into the darkened nave to celebrate the light of Christ come to us.

I hope that this photo can give you a taste of this bonfire experience. More than that, I wish you a blessed Easter season. May you know the light of Christ.

Good Friday: The Wall Test

The Wall Test

When they say "To the wall!"

and the squad does a right turn,

where do you stand? With the squad

or the man against the wall?

In every case

you find yourself standing against the wall.

-Louis Simpson

On Good Friday, Christians around the world contemplate the crucifixion of Christ. An odd thing if you think about it, especially considering that Christians also claim that Christ was raised from the dead. Why dwell on the death?

Death is real, and Christianity doesn't shy away from that (at least in principle.)The Louis Simpson poem above speaks to what Good Friday is all about. We don't look back on the crucifixion as something that happened 2000 years ago that we will someday reap some benefit from. We know Good Friday in the ways that humans live together. We know what it is to be blindfolded against the wall, and we know what is to be the executioner.

I hesitate to elaborate anymore as the poem is enough. However, I caution against seeing this is a moment only to consider the cross and wallow in our responsibility for it. Even more, know that God goes to the wall. Every time we are against the wall having lost it all, God is there. Even when we scapegoat others and become executioner, God is there. God knows.

Having been against the wall, Christ empowers us to tear it down. Maybe Good Friday isn't only about losing it all, but also about all the junk we cling to so tightly.

Let Your Crazy Out During Holy Times

Calls to my study often begin with, “I know you think I am crazy. . .” I sometimes do think that, but generally keep it to myself. The implication being that their problem is just too small, unimportant, and certainly not worthy of the attention of such a busy priest. (Clergy everywhere are laughing- except for a few hand wringers.)

As we approach Holy Week and Easter, I am reminded that it is usually around such holy occasions that the ‘crazy’ comes out. A few years back I received two requests for exorcisms within a two week period. Most of the calls around holy days are not so extreme. People just get religious. They are thinking about family members who have died, the ones they wish would die, and of all the feelings and thoughts they have been holding onto (This is not at all personal. I have heard people say things like this.) So they reach out to clergy like me, hoping for a listening ear.

I hope that clergy respond to people reaching out for counsel. We are not therapists. I can listen, I can pray with folks, hear confession, anoint, read scripture with, recommend books to, admonish, encourage, edify, and do all sorts of things passed down to me through the traditions of scripture and the Church.

I hope that parishioners can and will reach out. This is all simple stuff. but stuff that bears repeating. Don't fear the anxiety that comes up during holy times. Instead, rely on the traditions of prayer, and avail yourself of the resources of the Church and the community. We just mind find that God meets us in the crazy places of our lives.

Sermon from 3/29

Save Your Life

Lectionary Reflections for Palm Sunday

“I have heard the whispering of the crowd;
Fear is all around;
They put their heads together against me;
They plot to take my life.”

Psalm 31:13

I am riding on a high from what I felt was a pretty good sermon yesterday (A sermon that I delivered.) Reading the lectionary for this coming Sunday (April 5) I see some more opportunity to elaborate on what I was thinking when preparing for yesterday’s sermon (one of those “I wish I had said that!” moments).
In brief, my sermon highlighted the anxiety so many of us feel surrounding economic issues of late. I have heard all sorts of worries expressed. Some are important and painful concerns. Some (even from my own lips) are too embarrassing to name. Many of us are concerned about choices that others don’t even have available to them.
In the Gospel reading for this past Sunday Jesus declares that a grain must fall to the ground in order to bear fruit. Something has to die before there can be new growth. The things that I am so concerned about losing sometimes must be lost in order for change to come. Something has to die. Sometimes I get to choose what it is. I get choose holding on tightly or letting go for the sake of truly living.
This coming Sunday is Palm/Passion Sunday. In a brief period of time we will go from celebration to the crucifixion. As I read the lessons, the lines quoted above from Psalm 31 caught my attention. “Fear is all around” describes much of the talk I am hearing. The wealthy and the poor express some anxiety about the future. The crowd is whispering, and the noise is deafening. I would even say that some feel that there is a plot against them. What they have will be taken away. Their lives will be taken away.
While the sentiment may have been actual and apparent when written, most of us can only read this passage metaphorically. There is not a plot to put me down. I know that, but I sometimes feel the opposite. I often feel that losing all the stuff by which I define my life will certainly kill me. Somewhere in my heart I know that life isn’t founded on all the things that I put my trust in.
“But as for me, I have trusted in you, O Lord” the psalmist declares, and the Lord is worthy of our trust. God has a plot to forgive and heal. Christ brings life out of what is lost. That life may well be different than what we have planned, but it is real life that can’t be taken away by economic failure, sin, or even death. An impassioned prayer that reveals our honest feelings will not separate us from God either. So Psalm 31 stands as and apt prayer for these times. May we as the psalmist does in verse 15 proclaim to God our “times are in your hands.”

Inspiration

Check out this poem by slam master Bob Hicok।

Meeting God

Here in the study, I often encounter people sharing stories of their faith journeys. I love that part of my vocation. We all have a story, and I find that nobody has a story that is any crazier than any other story. (Some are crazier, but we all have our unique pit stops on the way.)
Recently, I listened to the story of someone desparately seeking some connection with God. They were not feeling close to God at all. As I listened I felt that this person was looking for some special revelation. I had to tell them that such experiences don't happen for everyone. I don't think they heard me.
The conversation continued with the lament that every time they came to church they left disappointed. "I don't care about the music, the sermon, or getting to know anyone. Isn't it really all about me and God?" After hearing that question several times, I just had to answer. "No. It isn't all about you and God." Community matters, and it is in community that we often meet God.
Jesus called disciples to follow, and to do his work. The followers of Christ have come together to work and worship for 2000 years. In serving others and praying together we learn what it is to love God. We may even learn what it is to be loved. I don't want to discount personal devotion. We need that as well. That devotion also needs to have a place for expression. I find that it is easiest with a community designated for the purpose of following Christ. "Easy" may not be the best description. Living in community is hard. No relationship is easy.
As to my visitor, I realized that they were meeting God, but didn't notice God's presence. They weren't meeting God in church or in meditation. They told me a couple of stories of reaching out to others. They had given money to a co-worker in need. They had bought groceries for a needy family. They were meeting God in those actions. God was working through them. They had met God in an unexpected place: themselves.

Inauguration Report: Finally

I have not been blogging for some time. My virtual study has been dim. It is time to return, and to bring the warmth back. The inspiration this time is the recent inauguration of Barack Obama.

I attended the inaugural, and posted frequently on Facebook during my stay. Folks seemed to like my status updates, and have been asking for more stories. Now it is three weeks since the inaugural, and I am just now getting something out there. So I return to the study.



I traveled to Washington with my wife, our sons (ages 3 and 9), and an exchange student from Costa Rica. We stayed in a lovely inn in which my mother-in-law had reserved rooms over a year ago. Wait, I have to tell you about my journey home before I tell you anything else.

We had to catch the train to Baltimore at 2:00 to insure that we made our flight home. We were leaving the Mall as President Obama was finishing his address. I had followed the rules, and not brought a stroller so I am hauling up 18th holding my 3 year old who keeps encouraging me by saying things like: "I'm soo cold!", "I want to go home!" , "No we can't." My wife flagged down a pedi-cab (you know, a guy on a trike with a covered seat). We hopped in and dude is struggling, but making it. We get to the hotel, grab our luggage, gather our exchange student (Did I mention that she has had a terrible cold for the two weeks she has been in the States?), and decide to catch a cab as we are hearing reports that the Metro stations are jammed.

We made great time, and were at the airport three hours early! We go to check in and find that when making the reservations my wife had purchased two tickets in her own name intending one to be for our traveling companion. The agents are clear that we can't change the name at the airport. We must buy a new ticket! Fine, we can do that. We are then informed that there are no available seats on the same flight. What? Can't we have the one we intend to give up? Apparently not. We bought a ticket on a flight leaving two hours before ours, gathered our crew, and headed for security.


At security, our student has been tagged for review. Of course she has as she is a non-citizen who bought a ticket at the last minute. The TSA agent asked her to stay in place. Apparently she didn't understand, and joined us at the conveyor belt (5 steps away from where she was told to stand). The agent at the conveyor belt freaks, and tells our friend to get back. We explain that she doesn't speak much English. "Well, she needs to do what she is told to do!" We got things worked out and were on our way.



We got our friend off on her flight, and settled in to wait for ours. It was a good wait. We wound up sharing stories about the inauguration with others. On boarding the plane, it turns out that the seat next to me is empty. Well, it was until the nice man behind me moved up so the lady next to him could put her poster collection in his seat. (I am working on many letters to Delta, Travelocity, the president, William Shatner, and most local news stations.)



The flight was fine. Our three year old went to sleep before we left the ground, and we got to see the parade on the in-flight television. Upon landing, my wife and 9 year old son set off to retrieve our exchange student. My 3 year old and I gathered his stroller, followed after. We meet up at baggage claim, and all is well. We have a short trip to the parking lot, and we head for the highway. It is cold, we are tired, and we are almost home.



My wife asks what I want for dinner. It is my birthday after all. She calls my favorite burger place, and orders a feast. After ten minutes or so I notice that something is wrong. We are headed in the wrong direction! I had gone south rather than north! How did we not notice that?

We turn it around, and head north. My nine year old is now expressing discomfort. "I don't feel good.", "I am so hungry.", "I have a headache." My wife wisely asks, "Do you feel like you are going to throw up?" "No, I'm fine." We carry on.



With the car smelling of fries we make that final span of asphalt to the house. Perhaps 200 yards from our house, my complaining son indicates that he is indeed about to throw up. I stop the car, he jumps out, and manages to send most of the vomit out of the car. The rest was all over him, and enough did stay in the car. He declared that he was not getting back into the car. He would walk home. So he and my wife did just that. They met us shortly, and we put the patient to bed.

That was just the ride home. There were other twists on our agenda that weekend, but I generally have one impression of the experience. It was inspirational. With all the crazy things that happened, I would do it again tomorrow. I was proud to be an American, the spirit of the day moved me, and the crowds exuded a positive energy.

So what do I do now? How can I keep this inspiration alive?

That is what I hope to consider as I revive this blog. As it is a pastor's study, I plan to consider all the resources that faith can bring to the work of making a difference in the world.

Just from the ride home I can definitely say that no amount of mishap dampened my joy. May we all have that kind of spirit as we live every day.